The New Normal
by Midnight Caller
Summary: Old habits are hard to break.


The New Normal

By Midnight Caller

Disclaimer: Hank, Hank, Hank... it's all you, dude.  Well, you and Bruck and CBS.  

Rating: G

Spoilers: Season one

Summary: Old habits are hard to break.

A/N: I didn't really set out to write a 9/11 story, and don't really consider this to be one, but because I wrote it fairly recently and today is the 2nd anniversary, I suppose it seems more than a little coincidental.  I also didn't think I'd write another Fallout story, but ... it just sort of happened.  There's just some things I wanted to say, and thought maybe our infeds could help me out. :)  

This is for Eolivet, who has helped me more this year than I can possibly put into words.  Thank you.  

*****

Routine.

It's what people rely on when everything else falls apart, even at the FBI.  The picture is hung on the whiteboard, phone calls are made, pavement is pounded, someone is found.  And despite the less-than-favorable outcomes that are inevitable from time to time, the routine provides a comfort, but also a purpose, as if they could look back on an otherwise discouraging day and say, 'Well at least we followed our routine.'  The entire planet is populated by such creatures of habit, going through the motions, trying to move on, creatures who fear change at the same moment they try to embrace it.  

Rarely do people admit that they're addicted to their routines however, and sometimes, when an old, familiar one has to end for whatever reason, it's simply altered slightly, so it looks different enough from the outside to be considered a brand new habit.  

That's exactly what Jack Malone was doing as he strolled down the sidewalk, a paper bag tucked into the crook of one elbow, his other hand shoved into his coat pocket.  He had walked this path countless times, and though his destination was the same, he traveled to it for a different reason.   

The door to the building creaked as always, slamming shut behind him as he started up the stairs, one foot in front of the other.  The TV in apartment 301 was turned up too loud as usual, but, like he always did, he ignored it and walked to the end of the hall, stopping when he reached the last door on the right.  

The wood felt familiar as he knocked a few times, and yet his stomach twisted slightly with an anxiety he'd never felt before in this place, so he made himself listen to the too-loud TV, and knocked on the familiar wood again until he heard someone move on the other side of the door.  The locks turned, one by one, and then the door swung open, revealing Samantha's familiar face.  

"Hey," he offered with a smile, and she responded with a smaller version as she stepped back, allowing him to enter.  

It was when she shut the door that he saw her leg and its rather extensive dressing wrapped around her upper thigh.  He didn't need a reminder of why it was in that state, and he had certainly seen her leg before, but nevertheless, he couldn't help but stare.  

He finally looked away when she grabbed the bag from his arm and hobbled over to the counter.  "It doesn't hurt that badly," she said, removing the groceries from the bag and setting them next to her sink.  Off his dubious expression, she added, "Well... not as bad as it did."  

"You're walking on it, though, that's a good sign."  

"I'm getting used to it."  She stacked two cans of soup together.  "Thanks for the groceries."  

He dropped his keys on the counter and shrugged off his coat.  "What's going on, Sam?"  

She put her hands on the counter and met his eyes with a determined stare.  "Nothing, why?"  

He could always tell when she was lying.  "You just haven't really been yourself lately... Danny said you wouldn't take his calls and--"

"I got SHOT, Jack.  Forgive me if my life hasn't suddenly jumped back to being normal again."  Her nostrils always flared when she was angry with him.  

He dropped his head and sighed.  "That's not what I meant," he explained quietly.  "I just came over here because... I was worried."  

He was surprised to find her eyes still full of anger, and she suddenly straightened.  "I don't need you to feel sorry for me."

"I didn't –"

"Look, I'm tired, and when I get tired, my leg tends to flare-up.  Maybe you should just go."  

She limped around the counter and brushed past him, heading for the room he knew so well as her bedroom.  He watched her go, pained by her walk that had been altered into a lopsided, awkward stride.  He waited only a few seconds before following her.

The door creaked slightly, and he heard a muffled "Go away" as he made his way over to her bed, which she was now sprawled across on her back.  

He sat on the edge of the mattress and looked down at her, but she hadn't opened her eyes.  "Just go, Jack, please," she said into the arm slung over her head.  It was a simple request, not filled with tears or sorrow, just resolve.  

"Sam, look at me," he asked, but she refused.  "Sam," he repeated, but again with similar results.  

The bed rocked as he shifted down onto his side next to her, their bodies several inches apart.  He reached over and lifted a lock of hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.  "Sam," he said again, softer this time, and she finally opened her eyes, though she looked away almost immediately.  "Tell me what's going on," he pleaded.  

A long moment passed, and then she turned her head, looking up at the ceiling.  "You know..." she started, trying to find her words.  "You know how you always hear these stories of people who have these near-death experiences, and how they come out of it all enlightened, and how they're no longer afraid of dying and that sort of thing?"

Instead of answering her, he simply held a steady gaze on her features.  

She swallowed audibly before adding quietly, "That's not exactly what I'm feeling."  

Again, his eyes stayed on her, the stare unwavering even as she turned her head back toward him.  

"I'm ... afraid, Jack.  All the time."  

His voice lowered to match hers.  "Of what?"

Her lower lip quivered slightly, and she attempted to cover it up with a smile.  "Everything," she barely got out, and by then it was too late to stop the pressure that had been building up behind her eyes.    

He gently tugged on her shoulder, pulling her against him as she conceded into the familiar embrace, her injured leg coming to rest between his.  Her head found his chest as his arms wrapped around her back, and he kissed the top of her head, whispering, "It's okay, Sam, it's okay."  

Her fingers gripped his shirt, her eyes now nearly depleted, and she tried to form words between the heavy breaths expelling from her lungs.  "Are you ever scared?"

His hand reassuringly stroked her hair.  "Frequently." he admitted, swallowing hard.  "I don't believe anyone who says they aren't."    

Her breathing now calm, she spoke through the roughness that coated her voice.  "I sometimes wonder why I'm here, Jack.  I thought I was making a difference... but at times, I hate knowing what we know.  Sometimes I think I'd rather be blissfully ignorant than informed and scared to death that I might not make it home at the end of the day."    

"Yeah, but... everyone takes that risk, Sam, we all wonder if we'll make it home.  But you can't obsess over it or it'll rot away at you ... like it did for Barry."  

They were both quiet for a moment, his hand idly fingering her hair, and then her voice broke the silence with a whisper.  "Sometimes it hits me... how close I came two weeks ago... how easily it could have been me that day two years ago."  

"Sam..."

She took a breath.  "I go past that place every day, I can't help it.  Maybe it would have been me instead of Nicole, and Barry wouldn't have had to--"

"But it wasn't you, Sam, and life doesn't work that way.  Horrible things happen all the time to people who don't deserve it.  But that's why we go to work every day, even if it's just to save one person from something they don't deserve."

She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes as his cheek rested against her head.  

"You're still you, you know..." he remarked, his hand firmer on her back.  "You might walk a little more like me these days, but you're still you."  

She managed a light smile, laying her palm flat across his chest.  "I guess this is my new normal."

He considered that for a moment.  "For now."  

The room fell silent for a few minutes, and then she bit her lip, her mood darkening once more.  "It scares me that you're here, Jack... because I know where you're going when you leave."                

He inhaled shakily, but the hand on her back held its position.  When he spoke, his voice was low and distant, but honest.  "Do you want me to go?"  

She didn't need to answer, not when her hand gripped his shirt and she shifted even closer to him.  

It all felt so easy, just like it always had, and yet they could feel the unmistakable transformations that would keep it from ever regressing into what it was when it began.  Samantha closed her eyes, knowing she needed to embrace the change despite her fears.  

They were both familiar, but forbidden, and yet somehow the routine had made sense, and had been so easy to keep for so long.  Old habits are hard to break.    

(fin.)


End file.
